


A Guide to Getting Yourself Killed

by Abhorable



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gore, Graphic Description, M/M, Other, lets go i guess, uhhhh ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-06-23 23:38:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abhorable/pseuds/Abhorable
Summary: It's 1984, things are good.Okay, they're pretty bad. Living in a 1.5 room apartment in the middle of who-gives-a-fuck Illinois.A tad of money, that's all I need to get by. But a little distraction of sorts manages to worm it's way into life.





	1. Well, I was working. And then I got a bit side-tracked.

**Author's Note:**

> The joys of writing.

I thrummed my fingernails against my keyboard, typing up one hell of a storm. 

This was a big job. A big job, a real big job.  
I absolutely could not, ever, ever, ever, screw this thing up.  
Not when all of my rent for the past four months depended on this one piece. 

I took one tiny glance down to the wordcount, and there it was. A whole entire five hours had passed, and I was no where near done with this piece. 5:03 AM. There was no way I could quit now, though. My hands were on a roll.   
A very shaky, very unstable roll. I could feel them absently tapping away as I mulled over the prospect of getting another cup of Jo, before inevitably tying up my paragraph and letting out a whispered breath. 

A big writer for a novel series was calling on anyone to begin fleshing out their skeleton of a story, even if it was the most basic thing. The grand prize was over $300k, this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.   
It entirely depended on their specific species of several Dragonic societies being brought into the light as fully created, so that the whole thing wouldn't flop.

I took my quivering hands and poured a cup of coffee, dumping about three tablespoonfuls of sugar into the caffeinated nightmare. I began to bring it to my shaking lips, taking a quick sip.

I stumbled back towards my desk. Fuck this one-room apartment. Futon, desk, kitchen all in one. It was a shithole with hardly a half-bath. 

Curling my left hand into a fist around the handle of my coffee mug, I groaned. 

I wasn't getting that sweet, sweet cash. I was going to be stuck in this apartment forever. My ideas weren't novel worthy. My ideas weren't good enough for more than ten minutes of thought. I needed something real, something very real to write about. Something people would buy, and ask me to capitalize on a series with. 

The rain outside was incredibly loud. My boxy computer was hardly handling the storm, let alone all my ideas tossed onto a half-handed notepad on the background of my computer with that little shit of a paperclip muted so I could focus.   
But even the weather didn't agree with me, I guess.

I saved my clippings, determined to edit come morning, and even more determined to find a second job.

Shaking hands clasped still around my hot mug, I nearly had chugged the coffee. No matter how deep that hole in my stomach was, I wasn't going out until the McDonald's breakfast deals were on time. 

I opened up Internet Explorer, though considering to opt for something else, good ol' IE would get the job done. 

Recommended articles: Miner's Strike in Europe still at peak: When will the Madness End?, Joe Kittinger Completes World's First Transatlantic Flight in a Helium Balloon, Michael Myers' Recent Escape Captivates all of Police Time in Haddonfield, Illinois. 

Haddonfield, huh?

Another sip of coffee. My hands began to steady as I mulled the name over in my head a few times, plugging "Michael Myer" into the search bar. It was only then I was made aware of my spelling error, and with a groan, I watched as several results began to crop up. At least it seemed big. What kind of criminal takes over an entire police force, though? I clicked on the first link, taking a heavy sip of coffee while I waited for the page to load.

 _" **whotoavoidlateatnight.ogr.com//**_  
_**HADDON** **FIELD SERIAL MURDERER: MICHAEL MYERS** , _  
_Name: Michael Audrey Myers_  
_Nicknames/Alias': Halloween Slasher, The Shape_  
_Date of Birth: 31st of October, 1960_  
_Age as of Today: 26_  
_Date Detained: 31st of October, 1978_  
_Status: Alive_  
_Residency: Smith's Grove Asylum_  
_Reason for Arrest: Homicide_  
  
_ izzy_44true (11:04 AM, 6/23/1982): So I grew up in Haddonfield, and just four years ago the Halloween Killer struck. Some kids in the grade above me got absolutely mauled by this guy. Whole white mask, jumpsuit and knife apparently. All under police custody. i think he should have been put to death for killing those poor kids honestly. He was super violent or something Only missed one of those poor kids, god it just makes me sick. They just locked him up, what if he escapes?? What will we do then? Wait for him to kill more people to find him??/??_

 _Anon1 (12:04 AM, 6/30/1982) : this makes me :((… I was gonna come up and visit my grandparents before they moved away but I am glad I didn't now with this crazy on the loose..._  
  
_ L00misL0ver (5:56 PM, 7/1/1982): Gosh, I read all of Sam Loomis' books but nothing really haunts me like Michael. He's so ominous, yet intriguing. Completely evil to the bone, "Eyes as black as the pits of hell. Devoid of any and all emotion. Michael is not to be trusted whatsoever, accompanied by at least one nurse or security guard at all times. His incident where he had stabbed another patient using a crayon and raw strength leaves Michael not to be trusted, under any circumstances." and "This is no boy. I fear that it is the Devil himself", pages 13-14 of Michael Myers: A Psychological Case by Doctor Samuel Loomis. Super creepy and icky. _

_Anon2 (2:22 PM, 2/15/1983) : it's too bad nobody knows about this guy's motive. super terrible, but interesting._

_Forum Compiled by: izzy_44true and L00misL0ver and two anonymous users."  
_

So that was fun, I guess.  
I took a long sip of my coffee, letting that information sink in nice and deep. And further investigate my little interest a bit more.

It didn't take a whole lot of searching to find that recommended article, and let all the information just come to me. 

Michael Audrey Myers, the same man who had murdered his older sister in cold blood, had tried to kill a group of teenagers six years ago. Only succeeded in letting Laurie Strode go free, and she's since moved from the state.   
Haddonfield's Halloween massacre so many years ago had already been forgotten by most people, and I'd never even heard of it.  
Samuel Loomis, the whole nine yards, and all of it was just so interesting. And there wasn't much about it out there until recently.  
State police were being diverted to Haddonfield after Michael Myers was reported missing last night, a trail of dead guards in his wake. 

Absolutely insane.   
I went to take another swig only to find my drink empty.

I merely just stumbled on one of the most interesting stories of our decade, and it was enough to probe my interest longer than five minutes. Standing, I took a step to the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee.   
A writing break. That's what I needed, a writing break. And at about noon when I wake, I can continue the social hierarchy of the Cutaneous frog wyverns.

Who am I kidding?  
That never interested me, I'm a sleazy sellout at age 24, fresh out of a ELA with a bachelors. The only lucky thing about the scenario is that all my student loans ended up paid, with enough to even live somewhere without me heading back to my parents in Oklahoma. 

I pulled my keys off the counter, slipping into my sneakers. 

I'd take a nice drive to the edge of town, and it would be fine. It would all be fine. 

I popped out of my apartment, starting to doubt the loosely tied hoodie strings at my hood and the bagginess of my sweatpants. The door was shut, locked, and made sure to be secure. Didn't want anyone breaking in, or anything. That would just be dumb. 

Treading through the smoke-stained hallway, I began the downward spiral of three flights of stairs. The metal frames of each one always freak me out, then again the fact that they're caked in grease doesn't help. Falling is asking for your hands to be punctured on tiny little metal bumps, and then probably infected with something terrible. 

Upon scuttling down the steps and out the back door, the crisp air hit me like a train as I crept into the parking lot. I cracked the door to my Station Wagon with my hands still going like mad. I was freezing, but at least the heat of the car could warm me up for a quick drive to steady my nerves.

Ten minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

It was me and the open road, as far as the eye could see.  
But it was so dark I could hardly see, anyways. 

What I did see was an interstate warning along with dead leaves quickly wafting over my window.

_Haddonfield, Illinois_  
_.6 Miles_

Oh you've got to be kidding me.

I was that close to that psycho the whole time?

I considered driving past, maybe taking a loop around to finish my hour of driving. There were plenty of good diners listed on the signs to Haddonfield, though.

Ignoring the empty interstate roads, I neglected my blinker and made a right into the round spinoff to Haddonfield. 

Oh boy. What am I doing?


	2. This is stupid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, driving into an unknown town at 6 AM usually warrants nothing, what did I expect?

The lights of Haddonfield's streets flickered with a certain air of an eerie structure to them. Just enough to bring attention as I drove down Main Street at a steady 20.  
Not a single store was open just yet, but a bakery on the corner had the lights blaring for the morning baking of bread. Not a single peep.

I parallel parked next to the bakery, taking a nice deep breath to absorb the absolutely toasty car I wrangled myself into. As fall began to slip into winter, the heat was necessary, alright. Especially when it would nearly snow some years, or at least feel like it would any second. 

It was stupid of me to leave the house without more than some sweatshirt and sweatpants, I looked like a goddamned crackhead with those bags under my eyes, too. Maybe if I put a touch of some moisturizer or something under them it would help?  
Who knows, honestly. It was 6:14, and I needed to see how long that bread place would be under quarantine so I could get some breakfast. Sounded way healthier than McDonald's, and I didn't want to drive out here for nothing. Better have some of "Betty's Breads" before I head out of here.

That tiny sign for the hours was just too much to handle, so I figured I'd come and get a closer look.

Cracking open the door of my car, I stuck the keys in my pocket and began to hike to the doorway, just as one of the employees went to change the sign to "OPEN" over "CLOSED".  
So it was an invitation, maybe?

She was about 20, very thin with curly brown hair. And the most perfect hazel eyes, absolutely stunning. Green pricking from their centers and into a near golden brown. Gorgeous. Her nametag read "Stacy". Fitting.

Trailing behind her to the counter, they had some chalk boards pinned to the wall with some specialty breads and a few cake options. 

"We don't have much fresh yet, still baking the Dragon Bread for the morning," Stacy yelled in my direction as she peered out from behind one of the empty bread racks, catching me out of the trance of the menu. "Mostly everything else has been prepped since 5, so it's mostly done."

"Oh." That stupid exclamation of dumbfoundedness rang out in my head even after I said it, mulling over the options of getting a whole loaf to bring home or get a cheese danishes.

Things went quiet, humming of the ovens going with a clatter of baking pans every so often as I awaited for arrival of someone to take my order for the three minutes I'd been there.  
Eventually, Stacy came back my direction and stood at the front of the counter, waiting expectantly as she dropped her hands over the register.

"Sorry 'bout that, we normally open at 6:30, but I saw you outside. My Co-Worker is on break, so...What can I do for you?" I noticed the little silver engraving of "Manager" on her nametag, but made nothing of it.

"Uh-hi, how much is it for a single loaf of grain?" I tried not to stare at her eyes too long. That would be really creepy and absolutely detrimental to the very few social ques and such I have left. "And is your cheese danish sale still on?"

"Loaves are about 3 a pop, and yes. Sale is on." She began to start bagging one of the whole grain loaves, assuming I'd be getting both before doing a double take back to me. "Wait, why are you up before curfew?"

"What curfew?" Okay, weird, but I want my bread, lady. How are YOU up before curfew?

"Y'know, the one instated to literally everyone by the State Police?"

"I'm from out of town. I drove like, an hour to get here."

"Okay then." She licked her lips. Very chapped. "So is the bread all?"

"Yea."

"That's $3.18."

I shuffled for my wallet, handing her three bucks and a quarter. Receiving a nickel and two pennies in return. Pricey. But I was hungry, damnit.

"Be safe, okay? I'd hate to see a new face disappear. There's a serial killer on the loose. Especially down on Lampkin, been sighted a few times."

"...Okay, thanks, I guess."

I took the bagged bread and trudged off to my car again, the denizen standing strong against the cool autumn winds. And the fucking lock was jammed on the car door. Wiggling and swerving my keys every which way was a two minute long hell every time I needed to get into my car in this cold of weather. Man, I hate this thing. 

Now inside, I could devour the bread without judgement to the fact that the entire loaf would be gone by the time the day would come to an end.

I forgot to get the cheese danishes. Damnit. My hand reaches contact with my forehead, the works. I could go back later. That was a dumb way to describe hitting myself in the face.  
Oh well.

Avoid Lampkin means, "so go to Lampkin to get that desperately needed itch of inspiration scratched". And what would I even do if I even found information on Michael Myers?  
Did I ever have a plan?

I reached into the bag, tearing off a piece of the bread's crust with the bit of soft loaf inside. Absolutely great, delicious, and good to keep my shaking hands at bay from their violent spasms. I need to stop drinking coffee. 

Stuffing the piece into my mouth, its occurred to me that I really didn't have a plan. Maybe write something about it? Michael seemed like a pretty covered topic by that Loomis guy, though. An accurate telling of what he does? I'm not exactly a gore novelist, and besides, nobody's really into horror these days. There's so many serious murders happening that it's just too much.

I could write it, but there's no chance I'd make enough money to make rent next month, especially with getting an editor and publisher to even work with my book. My happiness hasn't mattered since the day I passed the SAT, after all.

Nobody would ever take my writing seriously, and the over the counter job at a grocery store didn't go too well with the fact all my co-workers were incompetent enough to get me fired. There's no way I'll survive unless I move back in with my mom. Pathetic, and likely.

I started up the engine again, to begin driving around the city once more. 

Oh boy, time to give in to temptation and just never get paid ever again. Time to live on the street, oh jolly gee wilickers.

The street names of Haddonfield were absolutely mind wracking. I must have spent at least an hour just driving around, trying to piece together a solid plan to find Lampkin Lane.

My only real comfort would truly be the soft screams of "SICK OF YOOUOUUUUUU, IM SO SICK OF YOU" trailing onto the radio, finally trailing off with "Human Filth". Quiet static. Not quite sure why GWAR was the last thing my radio wanted to process, but I wasn't going to complain about the station at least being up.

Morning light was starting to creep over the tops of the decaying trees, giving the faintest shimmer of light against the pale amber leaves. A beautiful morning, with crisp air, and the autumn chill expected of the season. 

At long last, with the sunlight beginning to blanket the morning dew of life, there was Lampkin Lane. A small subsection of a suburb. The green sign outlined in the standard white lining. Big, too. Clear letters, with a hefty strip of caution tape wrapped around the base. 

All new little family houses. Bizarre, how a murderer could possibly be found within any number of these homes. Or maybe just outside a backdoor, in the small woods or local park just a block away. 

Michael's murder weapons and stylistic choices were hidden from any website I found. But it didn't matter to me, anyways, I wasn't looking for him or anything. 

Maybe I could try to team up with Dr. Loomis on a long-term contract.. I'd end up editing, naturally.

In that case, I would need to know more about him. Send Dr. Loomis and email, perhaps. I'd need to learn more. 

I took a right, starting to cruise through the small suburb. Lampkin Lane was only a few blocks long, each tree planted in specific areas for optimal human produced natural environment. 

As I began to drift through suburbia at a slick 15 mph, something began to catch my eye. 

Not a single person here had their dogs outside. No cats to be seen on window ledges either. Thickly draped curtains over most windows, faint AC movement giving them no trouble. 

It was eerily quiet. My lack of radio made absolute sure of that.

I needed a smoke. 

Left my Malboro's back at home, and there was no damn way I'd reer my ugly head into any drugstores around here this early. It was absolutely bizarre, how late the people of Haddonfield arose. 

Or maybe it was that curfew. 

Either way, my head was starting to spin. The downside of not sleeping for three days and getting off caffeine. Hands shaking faster and less noticably the more I happened to go on with these habits. 

Eternally groaning and getting out today's self pity, I nearly missed the guy underneath the streetlamp. He was about two streets up, and standing just out of the main view.

I crept closer at my standard, steady 20 mph crawl. 

He was startlingly tall. Close to about 7 feet, just barely. Looked to be in his thirties. His hair was a hot mess. Definitely looked a bit soft, though. Too soft for most guys about at his age. 

And an off mechanical uniform. A deep blue with some brown and gray smudges on the arms. Something seemed wrong about the way he stood.

His arms were directly at his sides, folded mechanically to fit. I couldn't see his face either.

Maybe he had work and hitched a ride off a buddy. His hands looked worked, already greased so he must be going home. 

But what about that curfew? 

I'd be passing by him to make a right to the main road, so there wasn't much harm. 

He was pale, though. Mega pale. No coat, either. Just a mechanic's jumpsuit. His huge form hardly fit the sleeves, and everything else was snug enough to show off his body. Muscular, but not defined. He basically radiated a certain intimidation. 

It was now I realized I was swerving and slowing down just to get a good look at this guy. 

He was such an oddity. And like most oddities, I absolutely needed to observe the hell out of it. 

I pulled over on the opposite side of the street from him. He didn't move, so now it was a really good time to get a good look at him. 

But the second I put the damn station wagon in park, he was gone. Disintigrated, basically. Off without a hitch into the night. 

I wasn't that sleep deprived, was I? 

I couldn't be making up whole people now. It's impossible to create a face. 

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, I popped out of the station wagon. Taking a step or so back, I locked the thing. Can't be too careful in an unknown neighborhood, after all. 

Something was very wrong tonight, like, in the air or something. 

I began to trudge to the streetlamp. Five feet. 

My steps felt heavier after each one I took, and something was just plain... wrong.

My breathing sped up, heating up my face as I felt something grab my neck. Huge cold hands, pressing heavily into my neck, nearly crushing my tiny windpipe. Something cold, plastic within their grip as a blade came into my left eyes' view. 

Shimmering metal. And another hand over my mouth.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die here completely alone, and with nothing ever contributed in my life. Any of the tiny acts I've made in life will never matter. 

Why didn't I stay home? Oh, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayooo. Ya girl here.  
> I decided to pin it on relationship. If I do a third chapter, it'll probably all be that.  
> I worked on this on and off all month, and honestly don't know whether I like or dislike the concept.  
> Song mentioned is Sick of You by GWAR.  
> I've always had that insert character I've wanted to use, but I feel like that's just too far on the scale of "I'm a teen and I wanna make fanfic uwu". So I'm avoiding it, a touch.  
> Found an old draft for a different story on my laptop. Might end up writing it all out, don't know yet.  
> Time was a mess. Good, kinda, but way too rushed. Trying to fix that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, I suppose.  
> It's been a long time since I've publically written, though my last good Michael series was Time or Beginning of the End.  
> I'm not dead, just playing a lot of DND. I missed Michael, a bit, I've got to admit.  
> Website for a serial killer database is fake, though I'm sure there's some good ones online. The Miner's Strike and Transatlantic Balloon flight are real, though.
> 
> I don't know if I want to finish this. I won't have a writing schedule due to some other work I'm doing, along with my own comics and such.  
> Will be done on a mostly requested basis, though I do have a good idea for what I want in this piece.  
> Romance this time? I dunno.


End file.
